The Haunted Hotel eBook

If the famous physician could have shaken his own
reputation, he would have done it that afternoon.
Never before had he made himself so little welcome
at the bedside. Never before had he put off
until to-morrow the prescription which ought to have
been written, the opinion which ought to have been
given, to-day. He went home earlier than usual—­unutterably
dissatisfied with himself.

The servant had returned. Dr. Wybrow was ashamed
to question him. The man reported the result
of his errand, without waiting to be asked.

‘The lady’s name is the Countess Narona.
She lives at—­’

Without waiting to hear where she lived, the Doctor
acknowledged the all-important discovery of her name
by a silent bend of the head, and entered his consulting-room.
The fee that he had vainly refused still lay in its
little white paper covering on the table. He
sealed it up in an envelope; addressed it to the ‘Poor-box’
of the nearest police-court; and, calling the servant
in, directed him to take it to the magistrate the
next morning. Faithful to his duties, the servant
waited to ask the customary question, ‘Do you
dine at home to-day, sir?’

After a moment’s hesitation he said, ‘No:
I shall dine at the club.’

The most easily deteriorated of all the moral qualities
is the quality called ‘conscience.’
In one state of a man’s mind, his conscience
is the severest judge that can pass sentence on him.
In another state, he and his conscience are on the
best possible terms with each other in the comfortable
capacity of accomplices. When Doctor Wybrow left
his house for the second time, he did not even attempt
to conceal from himself that his sole object, in dining
at the club, was to hear what the world said of the
Countess Narona.

CHAPTER III

There was a time when a man in search of the pleasures
of gossip sought the society of ladies. The
man knows better now. He goes to the smoking-room
of his club.

Doctor Wybrow lit his cigar, and looked round him
at his brethren in social conclave assembled.
The room was well filled; but the flow of talk was
still languid. The Doctor innocently applied
the stimulant that was wanted. When he inquired
if anybody knew the Countess Narona, he was answered
by something like a shout of astonishment. Never
(the conclave agreed) had such an absurd question
been asked before! Every human creature, with
the slightest claim to a place in society, knew the
Countess Narona. An adventuress with a European
reputation of the blackest possible colour—­
such was the general description of the woman with
the deathlike complexion and the glittering eyes.